The Marriage Merger Read online

  “Don’t do that, Flora.”

  “What? What am I doing?”

  “You’re treating me like the enemy again. I’m here. I’m with you.” For a moment their gazes locked. “For you, not against you. I’ll come with you.”

  Flora felt as if the ground were crumbling beneath her feet. That like the cliff face before them, the foundations upon which she lived her life were being undermined by Bram Gifford. First he had taken her hand and she had not pulled away. Too late, she’d learned that she was not immune to the touch of a man’s hand, a certain look in his eyes, the hot lick of desire.

  He’d kissed her with a sweetness that was designed to turn her head, make her forget that they were rivals. That they were both after the same prize.

  And she’d forgotten.

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to my brand-new trilogy, BOARDROOM BRIDEGROOMS.

  Claibourne & Farraday is “the most stylish department store in London.” On the retirement of their father, the three talented Claibourne sisters are all set to take the store into the twenty-first century. Romana as head of public relations, Flora, a designer, and India, the oldest of the sisters, stepping into her father’s shoes as managing director.

  But the Farradays, three dynamic businessmen with plans of their own for Claibourne & Farraday, are determined to take full control of the store back into Farraday hands.

  India invites the Farraday cousins to “work-shadow” the sisters in order to find out what it takes to run the store. In this book, quiet reserved Flora tries to avoid being work-shadowed—only, her plan backfires, and she’s now stuck with playboy Bram Farraday Gifford on a romantic island paradise….

  With love,

  Liz Fielding

  To find out more about Liz Fielding, visit her Web site at www.lizfielding.com

  BOARDROOM BRIDEGROOMS!

  It’s a marriage takeover!

  Read all three books in this exciting trilogy by Liz Fielding!

  The Corporate Bridegroom

  The Marriage Merger

  The Tycoon’s Takeover

  LIZ FIELDING

  The Marriage Merger

  For Betty, Nancy, Doris, Glenys and Eiddwen…my mother and her sisters…with all my love

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  PROLOGUE

  CITY DIARY, LONDON EVENING POST

  WHAT is going on at Claibourne & Farraday?

  Following the departure of Peter Claibourne last month, it’s rumoured that London’s most stylish department store has become a war zone, with the Claibournes and the Farradays in a battle to control the boardroom.

  The two families each own forty-nine per cent of the store, with the remaining ‘golden share’ of two per cent passing to the oldest male heir of either family, and with it total control over the future of the company.

  Peter’s lovely daughters, who have been part of the store since their pictures appeared in C&F’s first mail order catalogue for nursery furniture, have cited equality in the workforce and refused to move over. I am informed that, confident of their position, they have invited the Farradays to ‘shadow’ them during the next few months, promising to step down if the men can do a better job.

  Today’s surprise announcement of the marriage of Romana Claibourne, youngest of the Claibourne girls, to Niall Farraday Macaulay in a brief ceremony in Las Vegas would suggest one Farraday was so impressed with the woman he was shadowing that he married her.

  With Bram Farraday Gifford about to take his turn shadowing jewellery buyer and designer Flora Claibourne, we await the outcome with considerable interest. Watch this space.

  MEMORANDUM

  From: J D FARRADAY

  To: BRAM FARRADAY GIFFORD

  Subject: CLAIBOURNE & FARRADAY

  Bram, the Claibourne girls are playing dirty. If Romana Claibourne was able to subvert Niall to their cause, she must be a lot cleverer than she looks. Flora Claibourne, as you will see from the file I’m biking over to you, just looks clever.

  Since the gloves are now off, I see no reason why you shouldn’t employ your infamous charm to even the score.

  E-MAIL

  From: Dr T Myan, Minister of Antiquities, Saraminda

  To: Flora Claibourne, London

  My dear Miss Claibourne

  You will no doubt have seen sensational reports of the discovery of a rich burial site in Saraminda. As you can guess, we have been overwhelmed with requests from journalists wishing to view this ‘lost princess’, as they have dubbed her.

  As a matter of urgency my government has asked me to approach you, as an authority on ancient jewellery and the author of Ashanti Gold, to write about the treasure. Your combination of scholarship and vivid writing would put this truly extraordinary find above lurid exploitation.

  I would be grateful if you could respond by return.

  Your honoured friend

  Tipi Myan

  FAX

  From: INDIA CLAIBOURNE

  To: BRAM GIFFORD

  Subject: WORK SHADOWING

  Miss Flora Claibourne will be travelling to Saraminda on Wednesday 1st May on a work-related project. Since you will be shadowing her during that month I have made arrangements for you to travel with her. I attach an itinerary for your information.

  A car will collect you and deliver you to the airport in good time for the flight. Should you have any queries, please call this office.

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘SARAMINDA?’ Bram Gifford took the fax from his secretary. ‘Isn’t that some island in the middle of nowhere? One plane a week in the dry season if the pilot’s sober?’

  ‘Not so. I checked it out on the Internet. Saraminda, according to the sales pitch, is an undiscovered paradise. It’s being touted as the latest luxury “fall off the end of the earth” holiday destination.’

  ‘Paradise is overrated. It inevitably comes with a serpent.’ He knew that for a fact. He’d got the scars to prove it. ‘Besides, this isn’t luxury, this is a package tour,’ he said as he scanned the fax. ‘Flora Claibourne is the package.’ Then, ‘What “work-related project” could involve a couple of weeks in this doubtful paradise, do you suppose?’

  ‘Maybe the Claibourne girls are looking into the possibility of opening a local branch to sell designer swimsuits and sun specs to rich tourists?’

  Bram pulled a face. ‘Please let it be so. That level of incompetence would be a gift.’

  ‘But unlikely. Nothing I’ve ever heard about the Claibourne girls suggests they’re incompetent. It’s more likely that Flora’s going to have a look at this “lost princess” they’ve found in some ruins deep in the interior. Dripping with gold and jade and pearls and goodness knows what else.’ She handed him a printout from the tourist department website. ‘Flora Claibourne designs the most stunning jewellery exclusively for the store.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Maybe she’s looking for inspiration.’

  He tossed the paper on his desk. ‘More likely it’s some fancy way of keeping me out of the way while their lawyers waste their time searching for some way to prevent us from ousting them.’

  ‘Maybe it is, but you’ll be shadowing her anyway and it has to beat trailing her around a department store for a month. You could do with a holiday.’

  ‘This won’t be a holiday.’

  ‘I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you think. You’ve got a lot in common.’

/>   ‘We both have a major holding in a department store. And we both want to be in control,’ he agreed, with just a touch of irony. ‘Whether that will make for a relaxing time, I take leave to doubt.’

  ‘Is she pretty? Her sisters are lovely but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a photograph of Flora.’

  Bram offered her a copy of Ashanti Gold, the latest non-fiction title to grip the public imagination and become a runaway bestseller. ‘Her picture’s on the back,’ he said, leaving her to make up her own mind.

  ‘Oh, well, I suppose you can’t have everything. You’ll be in paradise; getting Eve would be too much to ask. You’ll just have to lie back, close your eyes and remember how much you want to get your hands on that department store.’

  ‘Haven’t you got something important to do?’ he asked irritably.

  ‘Yes, but this is more interesting. I’ll go and make some coffee.’

  Left to himself, Bram took out his wallet. At the back, stashed away where no one would see, was a snapshot of a small boy with his puppy. He looked at it for a long time. Then, about to return it to its hiding place, he put it instead in the small pocket provided for such treasures.

  It was a timely reminder that he’d thought he’d found paradise once, when he was young enough to believe in such a concept. He’d bitten the apple and found the serpent.

  ‘You’ve done what?’

  ‘Don’t look at me like that, Flora Claibourne. You were there when it was arranged for Bram Gifford to shadow you during May. I asked you to put off your trip, but you went ahead and arranged it anyway.’

  It had been a matter of self-preservation. Flora didn’t think her sister would accept that as an excuse, however, so she pleaded a higher cause. ‘I can’t put off an invitation from the Saramindan government until it’s more convenient for you, India. You might be pretty big here, but I don’t suppose they’ve ever heard of Claibourne & Farraday.’

  ‘Nonsense. Their royal family has an account with us.’ She shrugged. ‘But it doesn’t matter. If you won’t stay here and let Mr Gifford watch you at work, he must go with you to Saraminda.’

  ‘That’s out of the question.’ Flora reached up to capture a handful of untidy curls that had slithered from a comb, twisting them carelessly into a knot on top of her head and anchoring them out of her eyes. ‘And pointless. I don’t know a thing about running Claibourne & Farraday, Indie. I just design the occasional jewellery collection—’

  India regarded her younger sister with undisguised exasperation. ‘You do a lot more than that,’ she said. ‘I don’t think you understand just how important you are to us. You bring us your own amazing jewellery designs, new fabrics you’ve picked up on your travels, and before you know it the entire store has been inspired. Last year you went to Africa and this summer everyone’s going to be wearing hot colours and animal prints to go with those gold wire chokers and cuffs. The opposition is scrambling to catch up. But you know what they say about a bandwagon. If you can see it—’

  ‘You’ve missed it. I know.’

  ‘And this autumn and winter is going to be fabulous. Celtic silver and platinum jewellery against soft, misty greens and mauves…’

  Flora knew when she was being buttered up, and this was buttering on a grand scale. ‘Indie—’

  ‘Enough. You didn’t object at the time, and one month out of your life is not a lot to ask…’ she paused briefly ‘…considering you’re a director of this company.’

  ‘That was not my choice. I’m not a businesswoman.’ She’d been railroaded into taking it on in order to show solidarity against the Farradays. ‘I really don’t have the time—’

  ‘I’ll let you go, Flora—and I promise I’ll never ask you to do another thing for me once this Farraday nonsense is out of the way—but I need you to show total commitment right now. Not next month. Not next year. Now. We have to offer a united front in the face of their attempt to grab control. Please don’t be difficult.’

  Flora wanted to be difficult. She wanted to scream and stamp and throw things, just the way her mother did when she didn’t get her way. Knowing from experience just how unattractive that was, she restrained herself. She didn’t give up, though. ‘I’m going there to look at some ancient finery, take some pictures and then write about it, Indie. It’s not a spectator sport,’ she said. ‘And Bram Gifford will not be amused when he finds out that it’s nothing to do with the store.’

  ‘You’ll have to convince him that it is. Tell him you’re working on next year’s collection. Ask his advice about camera angles if he gets tricky,’ she suggested, abandoning buttering in favour of arm-twisting. ‘Men can’t resist any opportunity to display their superiority. Especially Farraday men,’ she added, with feeling. ‘I just need you to keep Bram Gifford busy and out of my hair while the lawyers work on a strategy to keep them out. It isn’t much to ask.’ She paused only long enough to draw breath. ‘Unless you want to see them move in and take over?’

  Flora didn’t care much one way or the other, but she knew better than to say so.

  ‘The last thing I want is him being left to his own devices, poking around the store, probing into things that don’t concern him,’ India added. ‘And if you leave him behind, that’s what he’ll be doing.’

  Flora thought that as a major shareholder Abraham Farraday Gifford had every right to ask difficult questions. But since that was part of the agreement—whichever family was in control ran the place without interference—she didn’t bother to say so. Her apparently watertight excuse to avoid getting involved in this shadowing scheme had just developed a leak.

  ‘Any progress with the lawyers?’ she asked, infinitely hopeful.

  ‘Well, the fact that the agreement states control should pass to the “oldest male heir” offers considerable scope on the sex discrimination front, but it isn’t going to hold Jordan Farraday for long. He’s older than I am, so he can surrender the “male” bit without giving away a thing—’

  ‘After which it’ll be a mad race to see who can produce the first baby Claibourne or Farraday so that the next generation can do this again in another thirty years,’ said Flora. Put like that, maybe she did have a duty to help put an end to such nonsense.

  Her sister apparently missed the irony, because she simply shrugged and said, ‘As women, I think we might have the upper hand there.’

  Flora doubted that. She strongly suspected that if Bram Gifford called for volunteers, he’d be in severe danger of being trampled in the crush.

  ‘In the meantime,’ she went on, ‘I’ve got to make my case on the grounds of equality in the workplace. Which means proving I’m Jordan Farraday’s equal.’

  ‘So prove it. Go ahead and announce your stunning plans for the total revamping of Claibourne & Farraday. Surely that’s the quickest way to demonstrate your capability?’

  ‘There’s a problem with that.’

  Flora waited.

  ‘I can’t announce my plans right now because they include removing the name Farraday from the store.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m going to relaunch it as Claibourne’s. One snappy, modern name instead of two long-winded ones.’

  ‘Oh, fudge! I really wish you hadn’t told me that.’ Flora really wished she hadn’t asked. She wasn’t good at secrets. Not those kind of secrets. She’d used up her entire store of secrecy genes keeping just one. ‘I can see how that might be…um…’

  ‘Like waving a red rag at a bull? Inviting court injunctions and goodness knows what else?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think goodness would have much to do with it.’

  ‘Which is why you have to keep Bram Gifford occupied for the next month. Try and stun him with one of your flashes of genius—demonstrate just how indispensable you are to the success of the store. I don’t expect him to be on our side, but if he can be neutralised—’

  ‘You’re not suggesting I neutralise him the way Romana neutralised Niall?’ Flora asked. ‘Because I’m telling yo
u now—’

  ‘Until they return from their honeymoon we won’t know who neutralised whom,’ she said. ‘I need you, Flora. I really need you.’

  That her sister would admit to needing anyone had to be a first. India had always been entirely self-sufficient. But Flora had her own problems. ‘I just don’t see what I can do. I’m going to be working in the museum most of the time and when I’m not there I’m going to have to take a trip into the interior to look at the excavations. It’ll be very short on mod cons and it’s got nothing to do with the store.’ She hoped, if she kept repeating that, India might eventually realise the futility of involving her.

  ‘Bram Gifford doesn’t have to know that.’

  ‘Oh, please! His middle name is Farraday. He won’t be that easy to fool.’

  ‘Then don’t even try. The Tutankhamun treasure inspired the Egyptian look. With a bit of effort your “lost princess” could do the same. Just give us something to work with. And it won’t hurt Mr Gifford to work up a sweat following you through the rainforest.’

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘You won’t even notice the discomfort. You never do.’ India finally smiled. ‘It won’t be that bad, Flora. I’ve been doing a little research of my own and, believe me, Bram Gifford is at the top of every girl’s wish list.’

  ‘Not mine,’ she said, with feeling. She’d seen photographs of him in Celebrity magazine—a golden bear of a man, oozing wealth and power, with an endless succession of lovely women clinging to his arm.

  Her mother would adore him.

  ‘Hey, I’m not suggesting anything serious, but it wouldn’t hurt to flirt with him a little. Just don’t, whatever you do, fall in love with the man.’

  The warning was quite unnecessary. If he was going to be dogging her heels, the next month was going to be quite bad enough without making a total fool of herself. Once was more than enough. But she didn’t say that. What she said was, ‘Don’t be silly. There isn’t a girl alive who could meet him without falling in love with him. That’s what men like Bram Gifford are for.’ Her mother had an entire collection of them. But she pulled a face so that India would know she was joking.